


Is That the Fangs I Get?

by OriginalCeenote



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Hawkeye (Comics)
Genre: Blood Drinking, Clint Barton Is a Human Disaster, Clueless Clint, Fluff, Hipster Vampire Bucky Barnes, M/M, Oral, Sixty-nine, Smut, This is vaguely a holiday AU, Tumblr Prompt, Vampire AU, Winterhawk Exchange, You Said You Were a Vampire and I Thought You Were Kidding AU, crackfic, gift for claraxbarton, oh my god they were roommates, the author is a horrible person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 09:07:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17221007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OriginalCeenote/pseuds/OriginalCeenote
Summary: “It’s your turn to do the dishes,” Clint mumbled around the too-hot pizza pocket that he stuffed into his mouth anyway. It scorched the roof of his mouth, but his stomach muttered up at himWorth it. Bucky rolled his eyes, long-suffering and just plain done.“Dude. It’ssonot my turn. Especially when you consider that I don’t eveneat food.”“Oh, are we playing that game again? Yeah? Well, I can play that game, too. ‘Oh, look at me, I’m a vampire! Bleah, bluh-bleah!’” Clint made big, spooky eyes and draped his forearm across his mouth like a cape for emphasis.Bucky face-palmed. “Don’t make me hurt you, Barton.”





	Is That the Fangs I Get?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ClaraxBarton](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClaraxBarton/gifts).



> AU where Persons A and B are roommates and A is a vampire and doesn’t even hide it but B just thinks they’re joking all the time.

Clint checked his bank balance again a little before midnight. The white screen refreshed itself after he entered his bank login, and the meager total in his bank account had a minus sign next to it. 

His breath punched itself out of his chest. “Fuck. _Fuck._ ”

Okay. So he might have wrote that check at the grocery store one day too soon, after all. Rent was due in five days. Payday wasn’t for six. His landlord gave Clint that weird, flinty little smile every time he passed him on his way to the mailbox. Lucky gave him a gusty, canine sigh where he lay across Clint’s feet. 

“Got anything saved up for a rainy day, boy?”

His dog whined in response, got up, padded across the kitchen and shook himself before lying down next to the refrigerator.

“Thanks a lot.”

*

Clint combed the Roommate Wanted section of his work’s boards and scrolled through Craigslist. As much as he hated it, he was gonna need to share his dung heap apartment with another living, breathing adult. One who hopefully didn’t mind Clint’s weird schedule and dog hair on the couch. 

“Barton, what’s up? Gonna catch the game at Riley’s on Friday?” Sam hung on the edge of Clint’s office doorway, looking expectant.

“Might not happen if something doesn’t shake loose before then.”

“Uh-oh. What’s going on?”

“M’broke. Nothing new. But I might not make rent this month. I need a roommate or to win the Lotto.”

“Roommate, huh?” Sam huffed. “Days like this, I’m glad I’m married.”

“Is that the only reason you’re glad?”

“No, and don’t let Monica hear you ask that, or I’m toast.” Sam shook his finger at him. “Don’t get me in trouble.”

Clint took a gulp of his tepid coffee and grimaced. “Don’t count on me for Friday, but don’t quite count me out yet, either.”

“Fair enough. Oh. Hey.” Sam snapped his fingers. “I just had a thought.”

“Shoot.”

“Steve. He has a buddy. Met him in college. He’s coming back into town and staying with Rogers, but he is looking for a place, too. He has a night job of some sort. Keeps weird hours. Seems like a nice enough guy, though. Mellow. You all might get along.”

Clint shrugged. “Think he likes dogs?”

“You and that dog.” Sam’s smile returned, this time exasperated and fond. “Don’t let the guy see you and Lucky eating from the same slice of pizza. That’s not a good impression to leave him with.”

“What? Sharing is caring.”

“That’s nasty.”

But Sam shot Clint a text later that afternoon, with Steve’s details and work schedule, and Clint messaged him that night.

The next morning, while Clint brewed himself the last of his coffee, his phone dinged at him with a text. 

“Oh. Okay.”

_Hi. My best friend gave me your number and mentioned you might have a room to rent. Give me a time to take you out for a cup of coffee to discuss it._

That was quick. And direct. The guy was offering Clint coffee up front, too. If that wasn’t a positive sign, then Clint didn’t even know.

“What time were you thinking, buddy?” Clint murmured as he texted back.

The reply was immediate. _Some time tonight when I’m awake. Just got back from work at the crack of dawn. I’m kind of a night owl. Hope that isn’t a dealbreaker?_

Clint smirked and nodded in response, even though the guy couldn’t see it. “Not at all,” he told him, fingers flying over his phone screen. “Hope it doesn’t make me sound skeevy, but I really need a roommate sooner than later. Like, five minutes ago. Hope that doesn’t scare you off.”

_It takes a lot to scare me off, pal._

Clint didn’t know whether to find that off-putting or not.

*

James picked the Starbucks over on the corner, an hour before they were due to close. He looked up from his tablet as soon as he felt Clint’s eyes land on him, and he offered him a lopsided smile that made his eyes crinkle. 

Big, soft and blue-gray. _Fuck_. Guy looked like a model and dressed like a hipster to boot. His black leather jacket was draped over the back of his chair, so Clint was treated to a look at those arms encased in the snug sweater.

“Hey. Glad you made it.” He stood and leaned forward to shake Clint’s hand. He was shorter than Clint, but then again, most people were. His grip was cool but strong, and Clint felt a weird little frisson of excitement from that brief contact. 

“Your hands are cold, buddy. You could use more iron. But, yeah. I made it. Despite the traffic. Sucks right around Christmas.”

The guy chuckled at that. “Yeah, my hemoglobin tends to run a little low. Hey, go ahead and order. I’m buying.” He handed Clint a gift card and told him, “That thing’s fully loaded. I top it off every month. Sometimes, I need my Americano fix. It’s the only other thing I ever drink.”

“What, that and microbrew? You look like a microbrew guy.”

“Nope. Stuff tastes like horse piss squeezed through a dirty sock.”

“Oh, buddy. We’re gonna get along fine.”

James grinned in that cute, nose-scrunching way and clapped Clint on the shoulder, then gestured for him to precede him in line at the counter. They ordered two grande Americanos, and Bucky nodded to the treats in the case.

“Get something to eat, too. You’re just coming from work, right?”

“Yeah. I worked the split shift today. I’m on for day shift tomorrow, which is gonna suck. I’m a drug counselor and social worker for the county.”

“Nice. Sounds respectable.”

“Yeah, but the pay is bupkes. I’m doing it more for the insurance than anything else. It’s hard to make rent in this town, y’know?”

“I hear that.” James gave his coffee a musing look when the barista handed it to them over the counter. “I mean, I’m as broke as the next guy, but, sometimes I just want another adult to talk to so I don’t just come home and stare at four walls.”

“Don’t be too quick to mistake me for an adult. How about ‘breathing mammal?’”

That made James snicker. “Okay. I can work with that.”

Clint knocked on his landlord’s door first thing in the morning and asked for the rental application. Clint sweated all afternoon waiting for James to get back in touch with him, and by four o’clock, he got a text.

_Okay. It’s a go. My credit check went through. I gave the old man a security deposit and first month’s rent._

“Wait. First month’s? Like, the _whole_ month?” Clint’s thumb flew over the screen. “Dude. You didn’t have to do that.”

_You can do me a solid later. Don’t worry about it, roomie. I get to call you that now._ There was a winky-faced emoji after that. Then, _Oh. And call me Bucky. Guess we never got around to that. I like that better than James. It’s more memorable._

“It’s dorky as hell, but okay, Buck-O. I can live with that, if you can live with _me._ ”

*

Bucky didn’t have any furniture other than a bed that he ordered his first week in the apartment. He slept on Clint’s futon/couch for a few days, or. So Clint assumed. Bucky wasn’t lying when he said that he was a night owl. 

“I flew out here. Sold all my stuff before I left,” he explained to Clint as he drank what looked like a glass of cranberry juice that second morning. All Bucky brought with him was a box of dishes, a bedroom lamp, an alarm clock, and two suitcases of clothes. 

“Man, that looks like all I took with me when my folks first kicked me out of the house,” Clint told him, grinning. Bucky shrugged and fist-bumped him.

“Nothing wrong with traveling light.”

“Couldn’t afford a moving truck?”

“Nah. Had to cross three states. I had to worry about driving around the clock. Y’know,” he told Clint, as if Clint knew.

“Uh. Okay. No worries. Hope you don’t mind my taste in furniture. I swear it doesn’t have bed bugs.”

“Sweet.”

Even when Bucky finally got a few things, he lived sparsely. He hung blackout curtains over the bedroom windows and asked Clint if he minded getting some for the living room, too. Clint shrugged at him over his carton of takeout.

“No biggie. Knock yourself out. Planning on havin’ a hangover any time soon?”

“I’m just not a morning person,” Bucky reminded him.

Even though he was pretty levelheaded and mild tempered most of the time. For a so-called “night owl,” Clint had never seen Bucky act crabby with him. Sure, it had only been a month so far, but Clint got the longer end of the stick with this deal. Bucky paid his half of the utilities, and he never dipped into Clint’s snacks or drank all the milk without buying more. 

Which. Wow. Wait…

Like, take the other night.

Clint ran a stick of butter over the hot surface of the waffle iron, slicking it for the next batch, and he expertly drizzled the thick batter onto the center, til it just filled the plate one inch shy of the border. 

“Whatcha makin’?”

“What’s it look like, man? Waffles! That one’s still warm, grab a plate. Syrup’s in the fridge.”

“Uh. That’s okay. I’m good.”

“Whaddya mean, you’re good? Seriously? You’re gonna turn down waffles? Homemade waffles?”

“I don’t. Eat them.”

“Are you one of those Paleo dudes? Aw, Buck-O, please say it ain’t so. Please tell me you’re not gluten-free, mamby-pamby, fuckin’ low-carb?!”

Bucky scrunched his nose and shook his head. “Pfffft. Paleo… c’mon. No. It’s just.” Bucky threw up his hands. “I just figured you would’ve guessed by now. I don’t… eat regular food. Like, _any_ food.”

“Aw, Bucky! No! Don’t tell me you’re doing that juice cleanse bullshit? Or are you fasting? Don’t do that to yourself! C’mon, have a waffle. For me. Just a bite.” Clint held it out to him on the plate, waving it under Bucky’s chin, but Bucky just snickered, waving him off. 

“I’m serious! I’m fine. I can manage on this.” Bucky held up his glass of goddamned cranberry juice again and toasted Clint with it. “Those smell good, though.”

“Yeah? Well, you’re missing out. All the more for me.”

Bucky stared at Clint for several long seconds, before he left the kitchen and retreated to his laptop.

*

 

They ended up stopping at Walmart on Bucky’s night off, and they ran into Nat in the bathroom aisle. 

“Hey, stranger,” she chirped up at him as she set down the stack of bath towels she’d been pawing. “Why haven’t you texted me? You owe me a rematch of Mario Kart.”

“Why, so you can kick my ass? Not gonna happen. Besides, I’ve got a new gaming partner now.”

“Who could you possibly find to replace m- oh, hi.” 

It was the first time Nat had ever been struck speechless. Bucky gave her a smile that was dimpled and stunning, and Clint noticed that her hand went a little limp in his when he shook it.

“Charmed,” he murmured.

“Natasha,” she replied. “Um. Clint?”

“Ain’t he cute? This is my new roomie. We can out of detergent and toilet paper. I mean, I could wing it and just use baking soda on the wash, but you can’t just ‘wing it’ when it comes to Charmin. We’re not a coupla animals.”

Nat was still staring at Bucky. “Sure. No one ever accused you of being civilized, Barton.”

“Bucky thinks I’m plenty civilized! I’ve only picked my nose in front of him once.”

“He still gets to pass gas in front of me freely. And he usually does,” Bucky added dryly.

Nat just continued to stare. Her smile was pinched and frigid, and Clint could have sworn he saw her eyelid twitch. 

Nat, in the meantime, saw a pale-skinned man whose veins looked a translucent, eerie blue and were too visible beneath the surface. His gray eyes were otherworldly and luminous. His lips were dark as garnets. His canine teeth were pronounced and looked sharp as thorns. He was pushing the shopping cart, filled with dudebro toiletry items (Axe shower gel, Barton? Really?) and sipping something suspiciously red out of a protein shake mixer cup.

_Did Barton even have the first clue about this guy?_ Of course not, her voice of reason threw back. 

“So. You’re Clint’s roommate.”

“Sure am, dollface.”

“Wow. Okay. So. Okay. Well, it was nice…” Nat waved vaguely at the two of them and hurried off. Clint stared after her and scratched his head.

“Normally, she’s chattier than that.”

“Hm.”

“Hm.”

 

They headed to the apartment complex’s laundry room during the wee hours, since they wouldn’t have to fight for a dryer. Bucky hovered over Clint’s shoulder as he worked a sudoku puzzle.

“I hate it when I can’t only find all my sevens on one side.”

“Right? I hate that shit. I don’t even try the hard puzzles anymore. Feels like I’m gonna get an aneurysm.” Despite that claim, Clint managed to fill in the remainder of that puzzle, of moderate difficulty, within another ten minutes.

“Nice,” Bucky murmured.

“Here. Start the next one while I load up the whites.”

And this was nice. Despite Bucky’s little quirks, Clint realized, Bucky was just really easy to be around. Even though the whole not eating thing was weird. And his choice of drinks...

 

“Is that wine? Can I have a sip?”

“It’s blood.”

“Haha, whatever you say.” 

Seriously. The guy was such a kidder. Bucky just shrugged at him and kept sipping on it while Clint made himself a bacon sandwich.

The other thing that Clint noticed: Bucky was always cold. Guy bundled up in long sleeves and blankets in their apartment, even though it was almost June. Clint hunkered down beside him on the couch and bumped his shoulder against his. Bucky leaned into the contact and smirked.

“You really need to consider more iron.”

“I try. Depends on if I find someone with a healthy hematocrit. That’s the best source.”

“Uh. I was thinking you could just eat some spinach?”

“Where’s the fun in that?

Bucky bumped his foot against Clint’s ankle, making him yelp. It felt like ice.

“I’m getting you fuzzy socks for Christmas.”

“That… actually sounds… great.”

Clint leaned against him and tucked the blanket in more snugly around them both. “I need my Voltron fix.”

“I still haven’t caught up on season five.”

“I can watch it again.”

And maybe the two of them watched those episodes until Clint nodded off. Bucky wasn’t weird about it when he slumped against him in his sleep, if the arm he’d wrapped around his shoulders was anything to go by. Clint cracked his eyes open and stared up into Bucky’s eyes. They were filled with amusement, entirely at Clint’s expense. They were just so darned _pretty_.

“Sorry I drooled on you, buddy.”

“No harm done. I’m washable. Hey.”

“What?”

“Thanks for the warm-up.” Bucky gave him a soft smile. “M’all nice and toasty, now.”

Clint wandered off to bed, sternly reminding himself that meant nothing. They were just cuddling under a blanket. In frickin’ June.

*

Nat texted him later that week. _Did you plan to move in with a vampire? You know he’s a vampire, right? That’s what he is? Are you really this clueless, Clinton?_

“Pffffft.”

“What’s up?” Bucky asked him from the couch.

“Nat’s just messing around.”

“How so?”

“Get this. She thinks you’re a _vampire_ ,” Clint scoffed. “Man, the things she comes up with. I love her, but she’s normally less flighty than this.”

Bucky just stared, glass of red Kool-Aid paused mere centimeters from his lips.

“Hey. Big Lots has a coupon for deodorant!”

*

Clint couldn’t really complain about him as a roommate. He even planned to tell Rogers that he’d missed out not keeping the guy in that capacity. He took out the garbage before it began to stink and he didn’t play his music too loud. Clint was even getting used to the darkness of their apartment and even considered getting some blackout curtains for his own room. Y’know. In case Bucky, who regularly chatted with Clint from his doorway, those big, buff arms of his, all hairy and corded with muscle folded up against his beefy chest on perfect display, felt like crossing the threshold for a change. He just. Never seemed to stand in the sunlight. It made Clint a little sad, because imagine those amazing fucking eyes of his in direct light. _Fuck._

He called Steve one night and told him as much.

“Yeah. Bucky. I’ve known him a long time. Great guy. Don’t get me wrong. But it wasn’t gonna work out in the long run. I mean, we’re still friends. Til the end of the line, pretty much.”

“Hey, your loss, my gain. He’s great. Easier to live with than anyone I’m related to by blood.”

“Blood. Yeah. Hey. About that…”

Why did Rogers sound sheepish? What was that weird little thing his voice was doing?

“About what?”

“You’ve seen him drink it, right?”

Clint huffed. “Pfffftttt… okay. You too, Steve?”

“Me, too, what?”

“You and Buck-O. Always kidding around about him drinking all that Kool-Aid, or cranberry juice, or whatever. He keeps putting me on with that nonsense. Blood. Geez…”

“Uh. Clint. He’s. He’s not putting you on. That’s blood. That’s actual blood. I mean, I should have told you before you agreed to let him move in, but. I halfway figured you’d kinda figure it out. And Bucky’s nice. He’s decent. Him being a vamp wasn’t the reason he moved out. He was just overprotective of me. We had to give each other a little breathing room.”

“Overprotective?”

“He hung Brock over the edge of our balcony by the ankles. He kinda deserved it. And I’ve had to take a long, hard look at the people I bring home and into my confidences, y’know? But. Yeah. I don’t want Bucky to feel like he has to clean up my messes.”

“Hung him by his ankles? Buck-O?”

“He doesn’t mind being called Buck-O?”

“Aw, no! We’re tight! It’s no big deal. But I can’t believe you’re covering for him with his vampire act. That’s cute.”

“Clint. You haven’t noticed? He’s really strong? Always in the dark? Never goes anywhere during the day? Always cold?”

“Sounds like my goth cousin Clementine from Jersey. What’s the difference?”

“He’s a _vampire_.”

“Funny. You’re funny.” Clint snickered, shaking his head. “Hey, I’ve gotta go. I’m meeting him for a game of pool and darts. Guy’s almost as good as me. Great eye on him.”

“Yeah. That’s. That’s one of his things.”

“One of his _vampire_ things?” 

“Kinda is. Yeah.”

“God, you’re a kidder, Rogers. It’s been fun. Later, gator.”

 

Steve stared down at his phone and its blank screen for a moment and shrugged. “That. Went well.”

 

Clint and Bucky shot four games of pool and two games of darts. Clint offered Bucky a beer, which he eschewed, but he did accept a glass of red wine, the house “fortified” red that the bartender brought out from the back when Bucky leaned in to ask him if they even carried it. 

“At least it ain’t microbrew,” Clint muttered into his tankard. Bucky kicked him lightly in the shins. Clint grinned and kicked him back.

The wine made Bucky a little tipsy. Tipsy enough for karaoke. He murdered Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin’” and the crowd still loved it. Clint managed Creed’s “Arms Wide Open” without hitting any clunkers. Bucky watched him, rapt and impressed. They Ubered home and staggered up the steps. Bucky glared at a couple of young punks loitering outside, and they darted off. Clint didn’t notice the feral, red gleam in his eyes.

“You’re a baritone,” he told him.

“No’m not. I’m a blond.”

“You’re plastered.”

“Thank you.”

They stumbled into the apartment, and Clint rushed to the bathroom first, unzipping himself and releasing a stream that felt like it lasted forever.

“Fuck. That’s better than sex. My kidneys are thanking me right now.”

“I’m still making you drink water before you go to bed,” Bucky threatened. He’d already shucked his flannel and stood there in his jeans, bare feet and undershirt. 

Clint made an incoherent noise of resignation (and silently drooled). He flushed and washed his hands. Bucky nudged past him and rinsed his toothbrush. They shared close quarters in the bathroom most of the time without shame. Clint didn’t even know when that started happening. It wasn’t unusual for either of them to walk in on the other while they were showering and just shoot the shit from the doorway. Bucky brushed his teeth and swished out his mouth, then reached for the floss.

“Good oral hygiene. Why ain’t I surprised? Big, hot guy. Perfect hair. Eyes of an angel. And. You _floss_.”

Bucky smirked at him and continued to tug the green strand between his teeth. Clint squinted at him, humming thoughtfully. His vision was blurred with exhaustion and residual buzz.

“Where did you get these sweet fake fangs?” Bucky huffed and glanced at Clint in the mirror, then shrugged.

“They’re real. I’m a vampire.”

“Sure you are, and I’m Bigfoot.” Clint glopped a too-big dollop of toothpaste onto his brush and crammed it into his mouth.

Bucky stood there with the floss still stuck between his teeth, green strand hanging out from his lips. He threw up his hands. “Theriouthly?” he mumbled.

“C’mon,” Clint garbled back as he brushed. “You n’ Thteve, man…”

Bucky continued to floss, taking particular care around those crazy canines. 

“He was a kidder, too, Kept yankin’ my chain when I called him to thank him for sendin’ you my way, Barnes.” Clint spat out the foam and rinsed, swishing at the sides of the sink with his fingers and making an even bigger mess. “I did, by the way. I thanked him. You’re decent, man. I mean, as far as roomies go, and I didn’t want one; I fought it - you’re pretty awesome. Call me sappy, but. Yeah. M’glad you live here. Even if you keep yankin’ my chain.” Clint reached out and patted Bucky’s cool cheek. “Put on somethin’ warm.”

Bucky’s expression was equal parts amused and confused. He took a moment, counted to five, and eventually followed Clint into the kitchen and made him drink the previously threatened glass of water and pop an Advil. 

Clint collapsed into bed. Before he dozed off, he felt the covers drift up over his shoulders, all the way around his ears. He could have sworn he felt cool fingers smooth back his hair before his bedroom light clicked off.

*

 

“So, you told him, Rogers?”

“I figured you two had that conversation by now, and… c’mon, Buck. You know me. I hate lying. If you really needed me to cover for you, I would, but-”

“No. Don’t. No covering for me. It is what it is. I am what I am. Can’t help it. Only one way out.”

“Don’t talk about that.” Steve’s voice sounded flinty and terse.

“I won’t. But you know the deal.”

“Doesn’t mean shit. You’re my best pal.”

“It _does_ mean shit, and we really need to talk more about your taste in friends.”

“Hey. Is it really working out, though?”

“God, Rogers, as weird as this sounds… it really is. Guy’s a wingnut, but. I guess he isn’t anymore of a disaster than I am, right?”

That made Steve snicker.

“You’re not supposed to agree with me.”

“Sorry. I’m not even talking shit. He’s all right. I told you he would be. Barton’s mellow. He really won’t judge you for shit that you can’t help. That’s why I figured you guys might hit it off living together. Or whatever.”

Bucky huffed. “Or whatever, huh?”

“You admitted it yourself, once. That you like tall blonds. Not specific to gender.” Steve’s voice grew soft.

“Quit it. Stop that.”

“Hey, you said it.”

“He’s nice. Okay? He’s really nice. A little clueless. But. Y’know. That isn’t a dealbreaker.”

“Never was when you were with me.”

“Sorry it didn’t work out.”

“Not for lack of tryin’, buddy.”

“I miss your stupid face.”

“I miss yours. Hey. Make sure you’re eating. Don’t wait too long to-”

“I know that. M’fine, Rogers.”

“Okay.”

*

 

And then, everything changed.

The day started off like any other, in what Bucky and Clint were beginning to think of as their “new normal.” 

“It’s your turn to do the dishes,” Clint mumbled around the too-hot pizza pocket that he stuffed into his mouth anyway. It scorched the roof of his mouth, but his stomach muttered up at him _Worth it_. Bucky rolled his eyes, long-suffering and just plain done.

“Dude. It’s _so_ not my turn. Especially when you consider that I don’t even _eat food_.”

“Oh, are we playing that game again? Yeah? Well, I can play that game, too. ‘Oh, look at me, I’m a vampire! Bleah, bluh-bleah!’” Clint made big, spooky eyes and draped his forearm across his mouth like a cape for emphasis.

Bucky face-palmed. “Don’t make me hurt you, Barton.”

Clint smirked as he continued to wolf down his breakfast. Bucky made them a pot of coffee, even though he was about to turn in for the morning. 

“You’re lookin’ a little green around the gills, Barnes. You all right?”

“I’ll be fine after a little pick-me-up. Then I’m taking a nap.”

“Gotta get your beauty rest,” Clint teased. Bucky was already dressed in his pajamas, really soft plaid flannel ones and a plain white wifebeater tank. He looked cuddly and mussed, but there were slight bags under his eyes. His skin looked even paler than usual. Clint fought the urge to tuck him into bed with a cup of soup and a teddy bear.

The mental image of that perfect body tangled in the sheets wasn’t helping Clint below the waist at the moment, either. 

“Oh, hey.” Clint handed him the small envelope. “This is the invite to Sam’s bachelor party.”

“Invitations? On actual paper?”

“Sam’s more civilized than the rest of us. They’re having it at Harry’s Hideaway.”

“They, who?”

“Well, your best pal, for one.”

Bucky grinned. “You’re in for a treat. Stevie’s a lightweight.”

“Nice.”

“He and Sam are pretty tight. He didn’t mention it when I talked to him last.”

“He probably knew I’d bring you as my plus-one,” Clint reasoned. Then he hesitated. “Uh. Right?”

“Well, no shit.” Bucky grinned and gave Clint a fond little shove. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

 

*

Bucky’s “little pick-me-up” was a few ounces of ‘AB’ negative with a coffee chaser. He pulled the blinds in his room, booted up his laptop, and watched a bland Hallmark Christmas movie until he dozed off. He slept with his room cold, under a lot of blankets, but he woke up clammy and confused when the faintest sliver of the fading sunlight appeared on the other side of the room than it had been when he zonked out. 

“Shit.” His mouth tasted like paste, and he was still groggy. His body identified hunger, nearly insatiable. He could smell iron in his sweat.

Bucky staggered into the kitchen. Clint was gone, and he was due back to the apartment in about an hour. Bucky caught a glance at his reflection in the microwave door. His eyes glowed a hungry, eerie red. “ _Shit_.”

He was in bad shape. Clint was right. He was looking ragged around the edges, and he’d scoffed at Steve and his nagging, but Bucky had waited too long for a decent feed. He leaned his head into the fridge.

His last pouch of blood was hiding in an old Tupperware container marked “leftovers” in Sharpie pen. Clint had admitted that he never trusted his own leftovers half the time, because he never dated them and had opened them only to find science projects more than once. So, Bucky’s stash was safe from discovery. But there was also hardly any left. Maybe two ounces. Barely enough to take the edge off.

“Okay,” Bucky muttered. “Okay. Fine.”

He could do this. God help him.

 

Bucky thawed himself out with a piercing, hot shower that left his skin flushed and ruddy. He almost passed as a norm. He bumped his hair up with plenty of product and put on a charcoal gray sweater and dark wash skinny jeans. His leather jacket hung from the doorknob. Clint bopped around in his room, music drifting out from the doorway. Clint’s Spotify list was a strange journey from start to finish, with Johnny Cash on one end of the spectrum, and Beyonce on the other. 

“You look a little less murdery,” Clint pronounced. “Hey, you’re wearing gray. I mean, it’s just ‘light black,’ but it’s almost a color, for a change.”

“I like to change things up.” Bucky disputed this claim when he shrugged into the black leather jacket.

“You tried. That’s what counts.”

“I’ve seen daycare decor with less purple.”

“It’s my signature color. Like Shelby and her pink in _Steel Magnolias_. Don’t mock the power of purple, Barnes.” Clint tugged the eggplant beanie down over his ears, lifted the hem of his purple and black color block sweater, and sprayed his abdomen with Old Spice.

They headed to Harry’s, and Bucky stood out in the plaid flannel and skinny scarf crowd. He was also dismayed to find that Harry’s didn’t have his fortified vintage, or anything equivalent on tap.

“We don’t get a lot of your kind around here, pal,” the bartender admitted, raising an eyebrow as he took in Bucky’s pale coloring and the garnet glaze that was creeping over his irises, despite his attempts at suppressing it.

“Pal. Cut me some slack. Nobody in the kitchen’s got any backup supplies?”

“Jubi might,” he suggested. “I could ask her if she wants to go halfsies with ya, but I can’t make any promises.”

Bucky looked panicked.

“Cool yer jets,” he told him. The name badge pinned to his shirt identified the burly bartender with the crazy sideburns as Logan. “Lemme ask her a sec. It’ll just take a sec.”

Clint sidled up to Bucky and threw his arm around him. “We’re doin’ fireball shots. Want one? Sam’s already shitfaced. It’s hysterical.”

“Fireball’s a little… too firebally for me.”

“Aw, no! C’mon, Buck-O! It’ll be a hoot! I’ve never seen you ‘drunk’ drunk, y’know? Let your hair down a little.”

“It took a lot of effort to get it all the way up here,” Bucky countered.

Clint grinned at him and patted his hair, watching it spring back. “Sure fucking did. Wow. It barely moved.” Clint giggled and kissed Bucky’s cheek, warm and sloppy.

The blood lust faded from Bucky’s eyes for a moment with shock.

“You’re so _cute_. Lemme buy you a drink, though, okay?”

“You don’t have to-”

“Here ya go, Bright Eyes,” Logan pronounced as he slammed the shot glass down on the counter. Bucky nearly fainted with need.

“Hey, I’ll buy you that one! I’m buying, okay?”

“Clint. It’s okay, I’ve got this.” Bucky clutched the glass protectively when Clint tried to grab it and slide a twenty across the counter. Logan waved him off.

“Just let him finish it, bub!”

“Don’t waste any of it,” a tiny girl behind him warned.

“Hush, Jubes. Be polite.”

“Easy for you to say, old man. That was my break time snack. ‘A’ positive ain’t cheap.”

Bucky slammed the shot so fast that his head reeled, but his vision was no longer grayed out. He could see colors again, all of them. He wasn’t hearing people’s chatter around him as a wall of noise anymore. The shot was only a teaser, but it would have to do.

“Aw, man, you’ve gotta come and do a shot of fireball with the groom!” Clint chortled as he dragged Bucky through the crowd to the back room. 

He couldn’t hear Bucky’s heavy sigh above the clamor.

Steve and Sam both automatically stood from their seats for back-slapping hugs. Steve pushed his reading glasses back up on his nose and stared at Bucky.

“You look all right. Like you’ve been getting enough rest. I was worried…”

“That goes without saying, Rogers. C’mon.”

“Sorry, sorry. But. Yeah. You look all right.”

“Thanks?”

“You two are getting on all right, right?”

“We talked about it. Everything’s fine, Rogers.”

Steve covered his mouth to smother a belch. “Whoo, Fireball. Hits you right in the sinuses.”

“You know you can’t drink that shit. Messes with your ulcer.”

“The first one didn’t. The third one hurts.”

“Geez, Stevie…”

Clint dragged Bucky to the table, and the night’s games began. Somebody brought an Amazon gaming tablet, and they started playing trivia games and taking shots. Bucky wished he had another ‘A’ positive shot right about how, and he had to settle for fireball. Not his best idea on an empty stomach. 

Sam overshared his honeymoon plans. Steve overshared about his time with Bucky, when they still lived together. Tony overshared about _everything_. Scott just watched the conversations around him like they were a ping pong match. 

Bucky tapped out after the fourth shot Clint handed him, because despite his enhanced metabolism, the alcohol was fizzing in his veins and making his urges rise again. They settled in for a few rounds of poker. Even while he was buzzed, Bucky knew Steve was cheating at cards again. He was making The Face. Everybody thought Steve Rogers was a choir boy, and everyone thought wrong.

Sitting down helped. If Bucky had to exert himself, well. He didn’t know what he would do.

“Fuck, that’s my song!” Clint cried.

“Rapper’s Delight is Clint’s song?” Steve wondered aloud.

“It is _now_!” Clint shouted. “Bucky! C’mon, Buck-O! C’mon! Come dance with me! Don’t leave me hanging!”

“No. Clint, no… nonono. Clint. Barton. BARTON. Oh, holy fuck…” 

Clint lifted Bucky to his feet with surprising ease, and Bucky… wasn’t fighting him enough. Not when Clint was goofy and grinning and his grip felt so warm, and Bucky could smell his pheromones and sweat underneath the cloying cologne and reek of alcohol. _Fuck._ Bucky was a goner.

Clint dragged him out onto the dance floor, amidst the gyrating bodies, and he found himself swept up into the flashing lights and mirrors. And there was Clint, eyes gleaming like jewels, watery and a little glazed, looking like a snack in those snug jeans and with those beautiful cords of healthy veins in his throat. Clint, who was a handsy drunk and who felt _so warm_ and who kept crowding close…

They danced. Bucky felt the alcohol zoom straight to his head, with no fresh blood in his system to slow it down. When he was still a norm, a trip to Taco Bell would have done the trick.

Bucky was starving, drunk, and his roommate was pressed up against him, urging him to dance.

“Move those hips. Don’t leave everybody hanging.”

“You’re plastered again.”

“Yes, you am.”

They danced - Bucky followed Clint’s moves despite himself - and Bucky’s resolve faded a little more with each passing song. 

By the time he recognized the refrain of “the roof, the roof, the roof is on FIRE!” being screamed back at the DJ by the crowd, Bucky realized that Clint was pretty much in his arms, they were too goddamned close, and that Clint had little flecks of green in his eyes that Bucky never noticed before.

He tasted like cinnamon and so many tempting, bad decisions. They collapsed up against the mirror, and Bucky groaned into Clint’s mouth, fisting his hand in the neckline of that appalling sweater. The kiss was hot and sloppy, and Clint hissed a little, withdrawing with an awkward grin. He held his lower lip.

“Ow… babe, you bit me!”

“Didn’t mean it.”

And there it was.

One drop.

One teasing, tangy drop. Just a taste.

Bucky felt his urges rise, and he pushed past Clint when he realized that Clint’s jugular was too close, calling out to him like a beacon.

“Buck-O! Where are ya goin’?!”

Bucky rushed off, not caring that his jacket was still at the poker table. Steve set down his water glass and nudged Sam.

“What’s going on? Why’s Bucky hurrying off like that?”

“Go get your boy. He had a few. And it’s cold out,” Sam suggested helpfully. “I’ll watch your chips.”

“Get Barton, too. Before he does anything too Barton,” Tony offered. “I mean, I can afford the bail…”

“Can we just have one party where this doesn’t happen?” Sam grumbled.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Scott wanted to know.

Clint hurried after Bucky, grabbing his leather jacket as he left. “BUCKY!”

 

Bucky hurried down the street. He counted the blocks and wondered where the closest liquor store was that sold anything fortified. All the blood banks were closed by now. The only way he could feed as quickly as he needed to was the _old fashioned way_ , and it terrified him.

“BUCKY!”

“No, no, no. Fuck. _Fuck_.”

There was Clint, chasing after him on long, strong legs. Bucky picked up his pace, but Clint caught up to him by the fourth block. He was panting and out of breath. He shoved Bucky’s jacket in his general direction, bent over and gasping.

“Shit. Don’t. Do that. C’mon. Bucky. M’sorry. M’so sorry.”

“Don’t. Okay? It’s. It’s not you.”

“It’s always me. Any time anyone tells me that, it’s me. I know the deal. It’s okay. Because it’s me.”

“No. Clint. That’s not it. It’s really me. I didn’t eat enough before I came out -”

“Because you never eat! What? Need something in your stomach? Tell me to slow my roll, Buck-O. Okay? We both overdid it. And maybe I was a little out of bounds. I’m sorry about that. Should I be sorry? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to… well, I did, because you look hot, and it didn’t seem like you minded, but… did you?”

“Not that part. But, Clint… back away. If you know what’s good for you. _Please_.” Bucky held him off, chest heaving. He could feel the blood haze slipping over his eyes again and his veins standing out beneath his skin. He could hear Clint’s pulse and heartbeat. He felt his skin go clammy again, and he felt faint. Starving.

“You’re what’s good for me, though,” Clint told him simply.

“Wait… what?”

“You are.”

Bucky shook his head, but Clint nodded.

“I mean. I’m not as much of a disaster when you’re around. Maybe you haven’t noticed. But I have. I eat with actual utensils more when you’re around. And I do my laundry before it tries to climb out of the hamper and wash itself. And I pay more of my bills before I get the red notice. You’re a good influence on me. And I like hanging out with you. I can talk about anything with you, and you don’t tell me it’s stupid. Or that I am.”

“You’re not. But. Clint. This is a bad idea.”

“That’s nothing new for me. Sorry.”

And the haze slipped from Bucky’s eyes again. Clint’s expression was pleading, and Bucky felt himself softening at that look. And he didn’t fight it when Clint rushed forward and pulled him into his arms again. 

“You smell way too much like dinner right now, buddy. I’d back off if I were you.”

Clint’s laughter shook them both. “There you go again. I’m just keepin’ you warm. It’s freezing out. I brought you your coat.”

“That. That was nice.”

Bucky felt his fangs lengthening, and he closed his eyes. It was so hard to disengage himself from Clint’s warmth and scent.

“Hey! HEY! Is that you, Barnes?!”

Bucky’s eyes snapped open. Clint loosened his grip and straightened up, looking annoyed that they’d been interrupted.

“I see you, you sonofabitch! You think you’re funny, pullin’ that stunt on the balcony? Huh?”

Clint looked puzzled. A guy with an angular face and hard, dark eyes stalked down the block toward them, and he felt Bucky stiffen.

“Rumlow,” Bucky muttered. 

“What’s a Rumlow?”

“Steve’s asshole ex,” Bucky told him.

“No shit?”

“No. He’s a piece of shit.”

“That’s what I figured. Just wanted you to confirm it.”

“Don’t protect this asshole. He thought it was funny, trying to scare me off and poke his nose where it didn’t belong!” Brock approached and got too close. He smelled like microbrew and cigarettes. “Dangled me over the balcony and threatened to drop me from three stories up! We’re both on the ground now, asshole! Try that shit now!” Brock jabbed his finger in Bucky’s face, ignoring the glints of red slipping into his irises, clouding them.

“Back off, Brock,” Bucky warned. His gums throbbed as his canines extended.

“Me and my roommate have a date with some Advil and Netflix, under a heavy blanket, buddy, and you’re just gettin’ in the way,” Clint informed him.

“Oh, I’m in the way?” Brock offered. “Sorry about that.”

He hauled off and sucker punched Clint, making blood squirt from Clint’s nose. Clint reeled back, groaning and cursing. He glared down at Brock and looked like he was about to give back as good as he got, but Brock punched him again.

And Bucky.

Saw.

_Red_.

“Am I still in the way, buddy? Huh? Hu-”

Bucky fell upon him, slamming into him like a freight train. He plowed Brock into the wall of the nearby brownstone, hands fisted in his lapels. Bucky smelled his pheromones, too, more metallic and piercing, punctuated by the stench of beer and tobacco.

Brock’s eyes rolled a little with the impact, and he had the nerve to grin up at Bucky. “What’re you gonna do, Barnes? What- hey! DON’T!”

Bucky opened his jaws, forced Brock’s head back to give him access, and bit deeply into his pulsing jugular. Brock yelped and struggled futilely, but his blood flowed over Bucky’s tongue in a hot, salty rush. It had been too long. Brock was beating at him with his fists, gurgling and gagging while Bucky drank his fill.

“Buck-O?!”

 

Clint.

_Clint._

His roommate. 

Watching him, out in the open, on a dark city street. Draining Steve’s asshole ex-boyfriend.

Still bleeding himself. Bucky withdrew, letting his fangs retract, but his lips were stained red. Some of it dripped onto his charcoal sweater.

Bucky’s jacket dropped from Clint’s nerveless fingers.

“Well, fuck.”

*

 

An hour later, they sat on opposite ends of the couch. Clint had a cotton ball stuffed up one blood-crusted nostril and his eyes looked a little bruised. Bucky was fresh-scrubbed and looked… well. Radiant. Well-fed. Flush with healthy color.

And guilty as hell.

“Okay. So, that happened,” Clint mused.

Bucky nodded miserably. “Yeah. Kinda did.”

“So. That whole ‘no food’ thing.”

Bucky nodded at his lap this time.

“Buck-O. Hey.”

“It’s okay if you want me to move out. I can be out tomorrow.”

“What? NO. Hell, no, Bucky!”

Bucky whirled to face him, and Clint looked affronted. 

“I mean, are you kidding me? You know how hard it is to find a decent roommate in this city?”

“Clint. You saw me-”

“You showed the asshole who punched out my lights who’s boss. He almost ruined my favorite sweater, too. Good thing for him that I’ve got peroxide to get that out.”

Bucky opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again. 

“You’re my favorite part of coming home at night. Or in the morning. Even when I have to work wonky hours. You’re easy to be around, and you always give me that look, like I’m being a dumbass but that you’re fine with it. Don’t move out. _Please_ don’t move out. I’m begging you.”

“But. You saw.”

Clint shook his head. “That freaked me the fuck out, but I guess in hindsight, it explains a lot. A _lot_.”

“I tried to tell you.” Bucky’s voice was soft and a little scared.

“I thought you were just bullshitting me.”

“What, you mean you’re not Bigfoot, after all?”

Clint facepalmed. “That was terrible.”

“Sorry.”

“No. I had that one coming.”

They both sighed. Bucky threw up his hands.

“So. You fed, right? You’re okay now?”

“Yeah. I’m fine. I’m fine. Don’t worry about it.”

“I wasn’t gonna worry about it anyway. But, thing is. I’m getting cold just looking at you.”

“What?”

“C’mere. C’mon.” Clint waved him over impatiently, making grabby hands in Bucky’s direction. “Get under the blanket.”

“You… wait-”

“That flimsy little shirt isn’t gonna keep you warm like I will. C’mere. Under the blanket. With yours truly.”

“Are you serious?”

“Course. You look cold. You need warming up.”

Bucky’s brows drew together. But a lopsided smile worked its way across his lips. He sidled up to Clint, scooching his way across the couch, and Clint lifted the edge of the blanket. Before Bucky could argue it any further, he wrapped his arm around him, snuggling him close.

Bucky leaned into his warmth and breathed in his scent. They were both sweating Fireball out of their pores, but Clint still smelled like clean skin and a hint of sweat, his fading cologne, and that funny little “Clint” smell. His body radiated warmth, and he felt solid and perfect. 

“This isn’t a dealbreaker for you?”

“Nah.” Clint paused a beat. “Aren’t gonna bite me, are ya?”

“Not now. M’full.”

Bucky burped for emphasis.

“Phew… fireball,” Clint muttered fanning the air.

“That part’s your fault.”

“Yeah, yeah. Nothin’ new.” 

 

Epilogue:

 

Clint shoved his way inside the apartment, balancing an array of boxes and bags in his arms. Bucky glanced up from an issue of _Entertainment Weekly_ with Captain America on the cover and huffed. “What’s all that?”

“Whaddya mean, what’s all that? I got us stuff for Christmas! We’re not heathens in this house!” Then Clint gave that claim further thought. “Never mind. We kinda are. Especially you. But hey, sparkly stuff! C’mere and take a look. I got half this stuff at the dollar store.”

Bucky smirked as he approached, but as Clint began pulling things from the bags, his eyes lit up at all the tacky, brightly colored kitsch.

“Oh, good Lord…” Bucky held up the green felt headband with brown stuffed reindeer antlers sticking up from it. “Seriously, Clint?”

“You’re wearing that. We’re gonna have pictures taken.”

“Cameras can’t capture my image.”

“What? Aw, no! Noooooo! Tell me you’re bullshitting me.” Clint’s shoulders fell.

Bucky sighed, and a mischievous smile crept across his face.

“I knew it! You’re full of shit! We’re totally doing pictures. C’mon. Put it on now. I wanna see you in it.”

“Pffftttt…” Bucky rolled his eyes, but he put it on and gave his hair a little toss that made the antlers bobble.

Clint let out a little shriek.

“Clint, don’t…”

“You look fucking adorable!”

“Just stop.”

“Who’s a cute widdle woogums?” Clint’s voice rose to saccharine tones and he pinched Bucky’s cheek. Bucky growled at him and flung the headband across the room. Clint snickered, ducking away from his wrath.

“C’mon. Look at the rest of it. We don’t have a tree. I mean, we could get one of those little tiny ones for the coffee table if you want. I dunno. Or, we could just pack this stuff in a box and put it away in the dark where we’ll never find it again unless we move out and just go to Nat’s for Christmas.”

“No. This… this is fun. I guess… I miss this. It’s tacky, but… I like it. Might brighten up the apartment a little. Might be nice.” Bucky’s expression softened as he suggested it. He bumped his shoulder into Clint’s, paused a moment, and then gave him a soft kiss. 

Warmth rose into Clint’s cheeks. “I did good?”

“You did good.”

 

They were still together after realizing “roommates” didn’t quite define what they were once the casual sex became less “casual” and more “just get over here.” Once Clint got over the initial squick that Bucky _had honest-to-God been drinking human blood like some goddamn five-foot-ten mosquito with dimples_ , well. They worked it out. And Bucky had saved him from a savage ass-kicking from Steve’s neanderthal ex, right? Guy didn’t even press charges against Bucky from the puncture wounds, no doubt because “hey, _vampire_.” Who in the _fuck_ would believe him? Every emergency room heard its share of nutball stories, and even Brock Rumlow had enough pride not to make himself someone’s break room tale. 

That was what broke Steve and Bucky up. Not the vampirism (an immunovirus, Bucky clarified, that made Bucky’s blood cells attack themselves and made him constantly need to replenish the red ones from living “donors”; Clint still had no clue, but Bucky made it sound cool, anyway), but the fact that Bucky could be a little overprotective. Steve also admitted to being a little squeamish about watching Bucky feed. (“I mistook his O negative for cran-raspberry juice once. I’m still not over that. You never really get over that, Barton.”) Bucky got better about labeling the bottles in the fridge. They were both still learning.

That included remembering to pull the curtains completely shut in Clint’s bedroom, which, lately, was just as much Bucky’s bedroom. Bucky loved Clint’s obnoxiously purple bed sheets and the view he had of their street from his window at night. He didn’t love Clint’s unrepentant clutter, but they were working on that, too. They still made midnight laundry runs and worked on sudoku puzzles together. Clint thought better of taking a day shift job with the country and stuck with his flex shifts so that more of his waking hours could be at night. He needed time with his fella, right?

Clint wanted to store this night in his memory and drizzle it in candy glitter. Bucky, sifting through the crap Clint bought and hanging the cheap cardboard and paper decorations in random walls, stringing the tinsel mini-garlands around the windows and doorways. Bucky teasingly wrapping a length of garland around Clint’s neck like a feather boa and pulling him in for a sloppy kiss that made Clint’s knees buckle. Taking selfies with each other in the ridiculous Christmas hats (Clint’s was a showstopper top hat decorated with tinsel and jingle bells). Caterwauling along to terrible Christmas songs (neither of them claimed to be able to sing) and heating up spiced wine. Bucky spiked his with his supplemental blood, and they enjoyed it on the couch while they watched their basic cable’s selection of movies that had incidental Christmas scenes in them (Iron Man 3 could vaguely be considered a holiday movie), bundled together under the blanket, a tangle of warm skin and soft, plush textures and slow breathing and stubbled kisses. 

This was one of those nights where they decided to discuss it. That happened once in a while, too, when they were a little tipsy. Sometimes, Bucky would just watch Clint, and Clint would catch him making that smile that he couldn’t decipher and that always made him ask “What’d I do now?” That earned him a shake of Bucky’s head every time, and a teasing “Nothing. Don’t worry about it.” And if Clint’s hot vampire boyfriend assured him that he didn’t have to worry, who was Clint to borrow trouble, eh? That particular smile of Bucky’s was the one that made little thrills run through Clint’s stomach and gave him warm fuzzies. 

“So, you really didn’t know.”

“I. I didn’t.” Clint chuckled and brushed his lips over Bucky’s hairline. Bucky was sprawled over him, wrapped snug in Clint’s arms and soaking up his body heat like a sponge. “Guess I just thought you were goth. That you had a shtick.”

“No one ever says ‘shtick’ anymore.”

“See, there you go again. Talking shit about my lingo. You’re a hipster and a dick sometimes, pal.”

“Am not. M’ a dick _all_ the time. And don’t call me a hipster.”

“You sure the fuck are.”

Bucky snickered and nuzzled Clint’s throat.

“I mean, I know a lot of people who never go outside during the day. I wasn’t judging you for that.”

“How about my fangs, though?”

“I just figured you had cosmetic dentistry. Ain’t any sillier than getting a grill.”

Bucky pinched him.

“Ow. Be nice.”

“You’re a punk.”

“I’m _your_ punk.”

“I’m questioning the wisdom of that right now.”

“Shut up. You like me.”

Bucky smiled against his neck, and Clint shivered as he felt one of Bucky’s fangs barely graze his skin. “Easy there, buddy. I know I smell like a snack right now, but try to control those impulses of yours.”

“I’ll snack on you,” Bucky promised, and he leaned up and gave Clint a wicked smile. That red glaze flickered over his eyes for one tantalizing second. Clint shivered again, because yeah, they’d gone down that road one night, too, and it was just this side of too intense when Bucky _tasted_ him. Just a nip, but… _fuck._ Just _thinking_ about that spike of pleasure-pain in the middle of Bucky riding Clint nice and hard, both of their bodies salty and slick with sweat, made him pop a boner.

“Be gentle.”

“Gentle as a kitten.”

Bucky kissed him then, slow, hot and hungry, prying urgent noises from Clint’s throat. Bucky’s cool fingers, not as icy as they’d been before he crawled under the covers with Clint an hour ago, crept beneath the hem of Clint’s long-sleeved tee and ghosted over his abdomen, skimming their way up to his nipple. Clint’s fingers tangled in Bucky’s hair, and his hips canted themselves up, welcoming Bucky to ground himself down against him in concert with the havoc he wrought with Clint’s mouth. Bucky teased him with his tongue, making him forget his own name and speeding up his pulse. Clint groped Bucky’s ass, squeezing its ripe curve, and Bucky let out a shuddery little breath. Yeah, he liked that. Bucky dragged Clint’s shirt up, bunching it in his hands to reveal the expanse of Clint’s skin, and he began to mouth at every inch.

“Thought you didn’t wanna get a draft.”

“You’re still gonna warm me up.”

Clint nodded solemnly and watched Bucky with lust-filled eyes as he found his nipple again, gently pulling it between his teeth so he could lap at it. Heat pooled in Clint’s dick, and he strained and twitched with each flick of that skilled tongue. Clint was glad the space heater was on, because their clothes were about to hit the floor. 

“You don’t mind these?” Bucky smiled at him and casually flicked the tip of his tongue against one of his fangs. Clint shook his head.

“M’gettin’ kinda used to ‘em.”

Bucky smothered his laugh against Clint’s chest, and Clint decided to just let himself feel him. He’d spent so much time cuddling up to Clint to warm up, and Bucky’s skin was barely room temperature now, but it still beat “popsicle” any day. That didn’t stop Clint from shucking Bucky’s shirt impatiently so he could see that beautiful chest and gorgeously broad shoulders. His skin was still fair and translucent; Clint could still see those stark veins just below the surface, and he mapped them out with his fingertips, anxious to follow them with his mouth. Clint drank the taste of wine from Bucky’s as they continued their slow grind, building friction. He felt Bucky’s cock through the flannel pajama bottoms swelling to life, growing invitingly hard. His fingers impatiently tugged down the waistband of those baggy pajama pants. Bucky wasn’t even wearing underwear, and Clint growled in satisfaction. Bucky gasped at the feel of warm fingers ringing his cock, and he thrust himself into Clint’s grip.

“Like that?”

“Yes.” Bucky’s voice was all rough edges and raw need.

“Like it when I play with that sweet cock of yours, Barnes? Hm? Want me to warm that up, too?”

“Jesus…”

Between the two of them, they worked Clint’s pajamas down below his hips, and he was already jutting up, hard and dripping a hint of slickness in response to Bucky’s attentions. Clint reached for him and ringed both of their cocks in his grip this time, urging Bucky to thrust himself against him to do them both the most good. Bucky kept kissing him, devouring him as they edged their way toward bliss. 

Clint had his strengths. Singing wasn’t one of them. Neither was paying bills before the first red notice or avoiding awkward conversations. He sucked at shaving without cutting himself. Hygiene was a skill be frequently lacked. But Clint could kiss, and he knew all of Bucky’s hot spots and just how hard and fast to grind to turn him into a begging, mewling mess. 

“Let me move down,” Clint rasped.

“What?”

“Down, babe, down a little,” he told him. Clint had been sitting up with the arm of the couch at his back for support, but now he eased them both so that he lay flat on his back against the musty, slightly threadbare cushions. Now Bucky was flush against him, pinning Clint as his willing captive. “Now, you come up.”

“Now I… oh.” Clint grinned as he tugged at Bucky’s hips, making him move up, up, until he straddled Clint’s face. Bucky held onto the arm of the couch for balance as Clint opened his mouth and drew him inside its slick, lush heat. All common sense and reason left Bucky’s head in a rush. Clint suckled him greedily, raising his face to bob his mouth over his dick, building up a slow rhythm until Buck shook his head.

“Let me, sweetheart. Take it easy.” Then, darkly, he told him, “Protect that sweet neck of yours.”

Clint’s eyes shuttered, and he hummed around Bucky’s flesh. Bucky began to thrust himself down, slowly fucking Clint’s face. Clint didn’t mind the faint kink in his jaw as Bucky pushed himself inside. Bucky tasted salty and musky. His balls grazed Clint’s chin with their contact,, and the scent of Bucky’s flesh was going to Clint’s head, tangy, metallic and masculine. Bucky’s face contorted with bliss. There was that red glaze over his irises again, faint but enticing.

“Fuck, Clint,” he hissed. He held onto the arm of the couch with one hand and cupped Clint’s head with the other, guiding himself down Clint’s throat. Clint was still humming and groaning in pleasure, eyes rolling back a little in his head. He clutched Bucky’s hips and stroked his taut thighs, letting himself be used with enthusiasm. Bucky’s gaze was dark and sinful as he loomed over Clint, taking in his face as he worked. “Look at you. God, Clint…” His mouth was stretched around him, and his cock was swelling and growing rosy and slick with his spit. “You’re making me feel greedy, sweetheart.”

Clint mumbled something unintelligible, and Bucky huffed a laugh. Leave it to his boyfriend to talk with his mouth full…

Pleasure built in Bucky’s core. He felt guilty that he wasn’t returning the favor. He reached down and stroked Clint’s hair to get his attention. Clint’s eyes drifted open, and he slowed down his thrusts, enough to let Clint lean up and chase the head of his dick and lap at it teasingly.

“Don’t go,” Clint whined.

“I’m not goin’ far, baby. Don’t worry.” Bucky climbed off of him and dropped his pajama bottoms onto the floor. His cock bobbed fully erect and wanting attention, and Bucky took the opportunity to shuck Clint’s pants, too, leaving him gorgeously naked on his back. Bucky turned, straddled him from the other direction and eased himself over Clint’s cock, presenting him again with his hips.

“Okay, this works, too,” Clint breathed, and he groaned in contentment as he took Bucky in his mouth again, while Bucky mouthed at the tip of his cock, sliding his lips over it in small, damp kisses. Clint started humming again, and his mouth was so greedy and hot and perfect that Bucky almost wanted to keep things here until they ran their course. He knew Clint wanted the main event, though, and it was difficult to take his time when he turned him on this much. Bucky sucked him fully inside, slowly, feeling Clint’s body jerk and buck in response and his grip on Bucky’s thighs tighten. The give-and-take was going straight to Bucky’s head. His body grew heated with arousal and the full contact with Clint, and every drop of sensation flooded into his groin. 

They stayed like that for a while, and Bucky almost smiled around Clint’s cock when he felt his fingers playing around his hole. He heard Clint’s voice catch as he almost gagged a little, and Bucky knew that was his own fault for getting too excited and thrusting a little too deep, so he slowed down and focused on the supple, engorged flesh in his mouth. Clint’s legs were fidgeting, and his hips bucked and twitched as Bucky bobbed his head, lapping up the threads of slick spit running down the shaft. Clint was making urgent sounds behind Bucky, and his finger had slid down into Bucky’s crease, probing his puckered hole, massaging it to relax that snug ring of muscle. Clint played dirty. He was distracting Bucky to keep him from making Clint come first, and it was working too well. Bucky sped up his own swallows, shunting over him and earning himself the taste of Clint’s saltiness. 

Clint pulled off of him and tapped out first. “No. Don’t. Please. I want it, but I wanna get in you. Please…”

“You sure?” Bucky dipped down onto his cock with a long, spiraling suck. Clint shuddered beneath him.

“You’re making this _so damned hard_.”

“Hm.” Bucky gave him another couple of dips of his head because it was hard for him to stop, too, once he got going and got a good taste of Clint on his tongue, especially when he was so responsive.

“I hate having to do this, but if you don’t let me get up and get the lube, we’ll both be disappointed in a minute.”

“No, I wouldn’t.”

“Liar,” Clint rasped. “C’mon, don’t…”

“Awww.” Bucky gave the tip one last kiss and rose up off of him, heading toward the bedroom for the lube.

But when he turned to head for the doorway, Astroglide bottle and Trojan in hand, Clint was already there, eyes glazed with passion, nostrils flaring, and he backed Bucky up to the bed.

“Since you’re in here, anyway…”

“Okay…” Bucky’s flip response was cut off by Clint’s rough kiss, and the breath was knocked from his chest as Clint dragged him down onto the bed. They lay in a tangled sprawl, tongues spiraling, groping and kneading fevered flesh.

Moments later, Bucky was the one on his back, and Clint was stroking into him with slicked fingers. Bucky bit the edge of the pillow, but Clint tugged it away.

“Don’t. Like hearing you and seeing that pretty face.”

Bucky’s fangs had extended a little, and sometimes they made him self-conscious, but he smiled up at Clint, enjoying Clint’s answering smirk.

“Feel so sweet,” Clint murmured. He thrust and curled his fingers, finding all the right spots and making Bucky tip his head back into the pillows. By the time Clint snapped on the condom, lined himself up and pushed himself inside, Bucky was begging Clint to get on with it, because this was another thing Clint Barton was _very good_ at. 

“S’good,” Clint hissed. “So good, baby…” Bucky’s heat engulfed him, squeezing him just right.

“Give it to me how I like it,” Bucky told him. “You know how.”

“I do, huh?”

Clint smiled down at him and gave his hips a smooth little snap. Bucky’s hips immediately thrust up to meet him. Clint loomed over him, watching him, rapt at the sight of Bucky’s teeth catching that plump, red lip between them. “Like that?” He repeated it, and Bucky gasped raggedly. He nodded, and Clint gave him another perfect thrust, gripping his narrow hips in his large, hot hands.

Clint rocked into him, enjoying the sounds Bucky made and the soft flush that was creeping over his skin as he warmed him up. They moved together in concert, making the headboard knock into the wall in staccato thumps. Clint gradually sped up to a driving pace, wanting to push Bucky over the edge before he collapsed. Bucky was leaking, cock drooling clear, pearly drops onto his belly. The sight of Bucky was doing things to Clint; those tiny, hardened nipples, that rosy cock bobbing with the impact of Clint’s thrusts, Bucky’s round, firm cheeks taking Clint’s cock like that’s what they were made for… _fuck_.

“Oh, God…” Clint’s voice was a little frantic as he felt the first ripple of his climax. “Bucky… you feel too good, m’gonna-”

Bucky leaned up and dragged Clint down to him, kissing him hard. Clint kept thrusting, hard and deep, needing to take as much as he could from that moment, wanting to draw it out.

Bucky’s mouth slid down over Clint’s chin, down his throat, until he found the sweet spot, and he big down into Clint’s jugular, making Clint’s vision white out. Bucky’s tongue swirled over the shallow wound, lapping up Clint’s coppery essence, and Clint’s hips snapped forward, pumping into Bucky as he filled him with his release. He kept rocking until Bucky groaned and cried out, releasing Clint’s neck. The spurt of blood went straight to his head, and he came long and hard, making a sticky mess of them both.

Euphoric. Buzzing. Limp. Spent.

Both of them collapsed. Clint panted, trying to regain his breath and equilibrium. Bucky’s arms coiled around him. His body was finally warm and flushed, and his eyes were glassy with satisfaction.

“I said I was gonna be gentle. Sorry.”

“You didn’t hit the motherlode. I’m still breathing. That’s a win. I can’t feel my legs, though.”

“That’s kinda normal for us by now.”

“You sure?”

“Uh-huh. Hey, let me get you a couple of band-aids.”

“In a minute.” Clint lifted his head and kissed Bucky softly, smoothing his fingers through his hair. “Merry Christmas, Buck-O.”

“Merry Christmas, big guy.”

**Author's Note:**

> kangofu_cb gave me the inspiration for this fic when she shared the Tumblr post in question in one of our chats. Thank you.


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